I had some good feedback from my first story, so I decided to do a second, from the younger man's viewpoint. If you don't like male/male relationships, or aren't at least 18, this isn't written for you. I this IS your thing, and if you want to talk about it, be sure to drop me a line at willbaldwin@mindspring.com .
Razed-Revelation-Rics-Perspective
I know I'll NEVER be able to explain myself to my parents. Or to a small army of female admirers (who never got to first base with me). But I'm telling you: my life has never made MORE sense than it does right now. Because I'm living in the most sexy and intimate relationship imaginable -- with a 49 year old guy who I once thought of as an ideal "dad", and who now, every day, fulfills every need I have, and more, almost without trying.
The first two decades of my life taught me that I'm one great looking kid. But not much else. Alcoholism ran in my mother's family, and my Dad ran from them (and, alas, me as one trapped in that mess). So my childhood was a long nightmare of craziness and loneliness, alleviated only by my excursions beyond the walls of "home". I feared women, and had every right to, given the mother who cast many a boozy gaze on me. So, seeing no alternative back then, I turned to the gym and to metal -- and to building up this body that always seemed to inspire everything but love.
The best part of my life was my buddy from high school, blessed with an easy way in relationships, and with a line of girlfriends, and with a Dad who set the world's standards for loving his kid. Will Baldwin lived alone with his son, protected him from all harm (physical, emotional, and even spiritual, at times), and -- for whatever reason -- opened his door to me whenever I dared to ask for the gift of his attention and time. Some of the best, most secure and happy experiences of my youth were associated with Mr. Baldwin.
At first it felt strange to develop so much feeling for another person. My private life had always left me . dry. when it came to that. But as my body reached puberty, and as I moved deeper and deeper through boyhood and into my prime, I found myself thinking more and more about Will Baldwin: hell, I found myself dreaming about him! And soon it moved beyond even that: I found myself dressing for him, pumping iron for him, growing out my jet black hair into a crazy mane that others found incredibly sexy. And now and then, I felt certain that he noticed me, and maybe even WANTED me, but given the respect he's always shown me, I knew he'd never give me an uninvited touch. Which made me feel safe. Which made me feel sad.
That all changed the day I pulled together the flimsy excuse of going over to see him "so that I could find out when his son was returning from college." God help me, I'd DREAMED about this 49 year old man, who (I guess) considered me an additional son, and who (in fact) was the only father of my life. As he opened his door, I expected to greet him easily and to relax into a regrettably-casual hour in his presence and care.
But all the familiar scenarios changed when the door swung open, and there he stood with a freshly shaved head, and a half-embarrassed smile. I jolt of sexual tension flashed through my body. My knees weakened. And I lost whatever capacity I ever had to conduct a casual conversation. In short, throughout the next hour, I was a mess: clumsy and halting, overly-cautious then crazily intrusive. I remember twice reaching out to stroke Will's smooth, naked, sexy head. I remember how inappropriate that was, especially the second time -- and yet how permissive he was with me.
That night, all night, my dreams were charged with eroticism and desire. and directed toward my best friend's Dad. Three times I awoke to a wet and slippery bed. By the next day, I was a transformed man. I became determined to claim the guy who had once been "Dad", and I knew that I'd have to be the one to open the door of opportunity for me (for him. for us).
Will Baldwin had never seen me naked, not even from the waist up! So he had never seen the pecs I'd acquired through all those lonely years of lifting at the gym. He'd certainly never seen the two thick rings penetrating my nips. But he'd jokingly mentioned the thatch of black hair that covered my chest. All that was about to change, and so was my life.
As I showered on the most fateful afternoon of my life, I found myself smearing a medicated shave gel onto my chest. Fully erect, I began a painstaking process of shaving each hair and all stubble off my chest. Then, to my utter surprise, I lathered up my pubes, my balls, my great ass, and my sturdy legs. Within an hour, I was hairless from the neck down -- and felt sexier than I'd EVER felt in my life. Which may have been why it felt so right to pull a pair of tight leather slacks out, and on, over my naked, muscled, and ready body. I hurriedly tucked in a tight shirt that showed plenty of chest and tit-rings -- and then I deliberately left footwear behind and headed to the Baldwin home.
My future lover's eye's popped when he opened the door. I looked better than I'd ever looked before, and lots more overtly sexual. And, for once, I took the lead -- essentially pulling HIM over to his own loveseat, and then (god help me) having the nerve to wrap my leathered legs on either side of his waist, thrust my shaved chest upon him, and then claim his lips, his tongue, his lust.
I stoked his smooth, sexy skull -- which got all this sexual jazz going in the first place. And in an instant his reserve disappeared, and (within the afternoon) so did my virginity.
Every instinct I had that day -- and they've all proved to be true -- told me that we had BOTH found the love that had alluded us. It was, and is, perfect.
Before we slept our first night in each other's arms, I asked him to finish my outward transformation -- which after all only signified a monumental inward change. With a shining set of clippers (he one he'd used on himself, days ago) I whacked off the goatee I'd been wearing for two years. feeling more than ever like this bald stud's BOY.
Then I handed the clippers to Will and asked him to remove 30 inches of my blue-black hair -- which had been (until then) the pride of my life, a source of countless compliments.
His eyes held mine. There was a long erotic kiss. And then he did it.
He plowed those shiny chrome clippers back across my head, and hair fell down across my shoulders and over my slick pecs and upon my hairless cock.. Again and again he thrust those whirring blades through my mane, and as he did that we laughed, and kissed, and even cried.
After the shaving gel and the kiss of the blades, I looked into a mirror and saw, for the first time, my nudest, wildest, sexiest, and yet most vulnerable self. And there, beside it, was the sleek, shaved guy Will.
And that's where he's been since. God, I love him.